


Christmas Tales

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: 25 mini fics for the festive season.





	1. Hot Chocolate

The marshmallow bobs on top of the hot chocolate, melting at the edges. She stirs it and pops the pink fluff into her mouth.

“Hey,” he says, “that’s mine.”

He’s watching her lips and she smiles. “Come and get it, then.”


	2. Wreath

She hangs the wreath on the door, turning it a fraction to the left, standing back and then turning it to the right. She can hear Mulder laughing at her perfectionism. Accusing her of Christmas ornament OCD. She remembers tiptoeing to the tree in the middle of the night and rearranging the decorations until they were just right. He would always know, though. He would remember where he hung the blue star or the red bauble.

And tonight, she would remember that he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t laugh at her. He wouldn’t hold her waist in the night and pull her to him, he wouldn’t leave thumb marks on her ass, he wouldn’t nip at her neck and nipple and make her call out his name, he wouldn’t make her chamomile tea in the morning and tell her all the things she’d moaned the night before so she would blush again.

But the ornaments on the tree are perfectly placed. The wreath on the door is perfectly aligned. Her apartment is perfectly quiet.

Happy Christmas. Happy Fucking Christmas.


	3. Sweater

It’s cable-knit, red, bearing the image of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and white snowflakes falling around his goofy grin. She holds it up.

“It’s lovely,” she says, smiling.

Bill shakes his head. Tara swigs champagne. Matthew is flicking through his phone feed.

“Try it on, Scully.” Mulder says, giving Bill a look she would have been proud of. “Let’s see how it fits.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Yes, Dana. Try it on.” Bill is being Bill and it’s more wearing than she remembers. “It’s just your colour.”

She stops herself from answering. He doesn’t understand. He never did. She simply smiles at them all and pulls it over her shirt, unfolds the collars, smoothes it down.

There’s no eruption of laughter. No snippy commentary. No silent shaking of heads. All eyes turn to her. William blushes. His hair flops into his eyes as he looks down at his lap. Mulder puts his arm across his shoulder and the boy stiffens.

“Wow, Dana, that looks…amazing on you.” Tara stands up and hugs her. “Trust you to look good in just about anything. If I wore that I’d resemble a Santa Sack.” She sucks in a breath and puts a hand to her lips. “Oh, I didn’t mean that to…”

“How’s that turkey coming, Tara?” Bill looks to his wife, his lips a thin line. Then he turns to Mulder and gives him a small nod. An acknowledgement of sorts.

Scully looks down at herself. “This is hand-knitted, William. Did your mother make this?”

He shakes his head after a while, says. “She loved to crochet and embroider and knit. It’s a kind of family joke. The bad sweater. She makes one every year…made one every year…She taught me and I…I didn’t know your size but I…”

Mulder pushes him up towards her. William stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by family he doesn’t know. He tries to laugh but it comes out as a choke.

“It’s perfect,” she says. “It’s just perfect.”


	4. Snow

Her nose is pink. She rubs her gloved hands together as they trudge to the car.

“This side is okay,” he says, pointing to where the storm has spared the side closer to the cabin. He pulls at the door. It’s frozen stuck.

“I don’t think the car will start. We might have to call Skinner. Tell him we’re snowbound. In a remote town. On a mountain. With a madman on the loose.”

She shivers. Snow sparkles on her hair. “Sounds like bad fanfic, Mulder. This madman, Mulder, would he be about six foot tall with dark hair and kaleidoscopic orbs that flash with desire?”

He grins. “And this cabin only has one bed, Agent Scully. I’m prepared to take the couch. But I’m not sure there is one.”

“We’re both adults, Agent Mulder. We can share a bed without anything sexual happening.”

He sighs. “Really? That’s disappointing.”

She jumps up and down. “It’s too cold to stay out here. Let’s go inside and make a fire. Tell each other heartbreaking secrets from our youth and pretend that we’re not attracted to each other.”

“You want platonic, Scully? You ice queen, you.”

She walks back up the path and she wipes her feet on the mat, kicking off the snow. The small window next to the door is frosted. He breathes out watching the cloud form on the glass. He draws a heart on the window. Their initials through it.

“You old sap, Mulder. You might have shown your true colours too soon. We haven’t had slow burn yet.” 

She pulls off her glove and draws a heart in the snow, three inches thick on the windowsill. Their initials through it.

“You old romantic, Scully. And it’s too fucking cold for slow burn.”

“How does this story end, Mulder?”

“Dinner and a bottle of wine?”

“ATTHS.”

He pulls her through the door. “Twice.”


	5. Lights

They’re everywhere. Neon. Greens and reds and pinks and blues. It’s breathtaking. His hand is wrapped around hers. She is leaning into him, bodies pressed close. They’ve spent a lifetime looking to the skies, but they never found what they were looking for. Only loss and pain.

But this. This is infinite beauty. It’s everything.

“Thank you, Mulder.” His arm shifts and she’s wrapped inside his embrace.

“You may be immortal but watching the Aurora Borealis was a bucket-list item to be done together.”

“You say that like you’re going to leave me, Mulder. You know that’s not an option, right?”

“Are you asking me to haunt you, Scully?”

She laughs. “You’ve done that for 50 years, Mulder.”

His eyes half close and he puffs out his lips. If she looks hard enough she can see that driven young man and his patronising expression, taunting her from his desk. He turns slightly and smiles down at her. She doesn’t have to look hard to see love. It’s been there for half a century.

“Finally, we get to watch strange lights together, Scully.”

Tears sting but she doesn’t push them back. The cold is biting. “Don’t say it like that.”

The kiss is tender, brief. “All good things come to an end.”

Above them the sky is roaring. She watches for a while. Then closes her eyes.


	6. Snow Globe

She got one whenever her father returned. Sights and ports and animals and scenes from around the world captured in miniature under glass. Shake it and you change the world. She let out a bitter laugh at the idea. 

Her father had kept up the tradition and it had become a running joke between them. The challenge was to find one she hadn’t already got. The last one her father had given her was the Christmas he died. Shake it and you change the world.

This one called out to her. A perfect nativity scene. A baby in a crib. She tucked it into the stocking she had bought. The one with his name embroidered in gold letters. She turned to look at Mulder. He was sleeping finally. She padded to the small kitchen area and put the stocking, and the globe, in the bin.

She zipped up the bag and set it by the door. Sleep was not going to come. She might doze in the car later when they headed to whatever town was next on the endless road they had travelled since the break-out. The place they would spend their first Christmas together. But alone.

Shake it and you change the world.


	7. Tinsel

It’s not that she dislikes the idea. It’s just the way he goes about it. He doesn’t ask. He never has. Mulder is so open, looking to the skies, chasing phantoms, seeking the truth, uncovering the complex, but he has never grasped the simple concept of manners.

She stands in the basement office. It’s so bright and sparkly that she wishes she’d packed her sunglasses. But it’s 30 November. That grates even more. Who puts up Christmas decorations in November?

The door opens.

She’s turning as she’s talking. “You couldn’t even wait until 1 December, could you? I bet if your mother gave you an Advent calendar, you’d already opened the first five windows before the official countdown had begun. I bet you snuck into your parents’ room to look for your presents, didn’t you?” Her hands are on her hips and she’s got her eyebrow ready.

He’s standing in the doorway. Just behind Skinner. She can’t decide whose crooked smile looks the weirdest. Skinner steps forward. “I trust you like it, Agent Scully. If I didn’t make an early start, I would never have been able to get the decorations up. My diary is booked out from now until the Christmas break. Mulder,” he turns to let her partner pass. “Maybe this new look office will brighten you up, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder’s lips open with a pop.

“Scully tells me you’ve turned into a grouch since you two came back.”Skinner shuts the door behind him.

Mulder lets out a low whistle. He looks at her and she’s thankful that the gaudy red blaze from the tinsel wrapped around the cable pole covers her own deep blush. 

“I’m a grouch, Scully?” He walks to her and plants his hands on her shoulders, leaning in. “I’m a grouch? Have you seen my tie? It’s got fucking reindeers on it. My handkerchief has snowflakes at the edges, and…” He pauses, just like he used to do when he was in the middle of one of his slide shows. “My boxers are covered in mistletoe. Wanna kiss me?”

She leans back and tries to keep her tongue from flicking out. Her heart is hammering. She knows her chest is rising and rising as she tries to retain her composure. Their flirting has been at cosmic level and she’s starting to feel a change coming. They’re moving together again. Full circle, maybe.

He’s staring down at her. His gaze slips to the V of her blouse and in an instant she regains the upper hand. Her fingers pull on the length of silver tinsel that’s wrapped around the chair. 

She hangs around his neck and leans up to his ear. “Do you want to unwrap me?” The words slip out on her breath and his nod is almost imperceptible.

He shifts his weight.

“I’m wearing my Christmas stockings. The ones with the red lace at the top.”

He licks his lips.

“And I’m hoping that I’ve behaved myself enough to stay on Santa’s good side.”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Well, Skinner certainly thinks you’ve done something right. Decorating the office just for you, Scully.” His fingers brush hers.

“I think it was for you, Mulder. And you still haven’t answered me.”

His frown is her undoing and she stands on tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss. She’s never forgotten what that feels like, what it tastes like. He sighs. “What was the question again?” He bends down and gives her a deep, explorative kiss. “Do I want to unwrap you? Was that it?” He delves again and she presses herself to him.

The door handle turns and they separate in a heartbeat. She turns to the desk, picking up a file. He puts his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. The tinsel is swaying lightly.

Skinner gives them a curt nod, staring at Mulder’s silvery decoration. 

“Nice tie, Agent Mulder. Good to see you getting into the spirit already. I forgot to say that there are gifts under the tree for you both. I won’t be here to celebrate with you, but let me be the first to wish you both a happy Christmas.” He grins and it’s clear that he knows something. He’s practically laughing at them. “And agents. No unwrapping until at least the 1 December.” He checks his watch. “You only have to wait a few more hours.”

He shuts the door and the tinsel that frames it flutters to the floor. She looks at it for a while, then back at Mulder, processing what Skinner has just done.

Mulder grabs the back of her waist and pulls her back towards him. He’s good and hard. “Scully, it’s already 1 December in Australia.”


	8. Evergreen

The tree is a symbol. Of everything that stays the same when all around the world is changing, has changed. He plants it in the yard and at first it stutters and droops and shivers. He tends to it, feeding it, watering it, talking to it. It takes a few years but it digs in and flourishes.

When the time comes, when his children are old enough to help decorate the tree, William tells them about his parents.

“Nanna and pop are superheroes.”

“What colour capes do they wear?”

“No capes, but they do have special powers.”

“What powers?”

“They made me. And because they made me, I could make you. And even though they can’t be here, you can feel their love, can’t you?” He touches the leaves on the tree and it shakes on the breeze.

“Where are they?”

He makes a fist and bumps his chest. “Right here.”


	9. Wrapping Paper

He looks at the shelves and pulls out a few rolls. Gaudy holly and berries, whimsical snowmen, cartoon reindeers, golden calligraphy letters offering season’s greetings. But none capture what he is really looking for. The gift bags are just not right either. And mostly, they’re too small. He leaves the mall and heads home, with his single purchase.

Grey snow is banking up on the roadsides. The sky overhead is just as bleak. But he loves this time of year. Winter’s sombre presence is all around, but a fresh new year is coming, ready to break through the dull. Even after all that has happened, particularly after all that has happened in the last couple of years, he still has that optimistic streak that a new year brings. He still wants to believe.

The house is warm and cosy, cosier now that Scully is back. Her absence left a frost over everything, summer and winter. It has thawed now and that comfortable feeling winds through his body whenever he boils the kettle, butters toast for her, makes hot chocolate or stokes the fire.

Christmas morning is still. It’s the kind of startling quiet that can only mean snow. He pulls back the curtain and it’s a white-out. Blindingly brilliant. Scully is snoring gently and he trudges to the kitchen to make tea. The steam from the kettle curls against the window and he’s tempted to scribble a snowflake with his finger. But he hears Scully coming up behind him and she snuggles into his back.

“Happy Christmas, Mulder.”

She’s sleep-pretty. He holds her until the tea is brewed and they breakfast in fine silence.

She has bought him a hardback Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy signed by Douglas Adams. It’s dark red cover feels weighty in his hands, substantial. He flicks through the pages picking out the familiar passages. He feels her gaze on him. Her eyes are bright, expectant.

He gives her the gift he bought months ago. A series of small sketches of boats he’d commissioned from an artist she’d taken a liking to on Instagram. Scully might claim to be old-school but the internet has been good for her. She allows herself much more creative expression these days.

“These are beautiful, Mulder.” She lines them up on the floor in front of her and he crawls behind her. She leans back into him. They fit so well.

“What’s that present?” She nods to the last package under the tree.

“Something special.” He pushes himself up to grab it.

She takes it and unwraps it carefully, unfolding the edges before peeling back the tape and revealing the ugly knitted sweater inside. It’s brown with a huge red Santa trying to squeeze down a chimney while it snows. She holds it up and disappears behind it.

“This is five extra large, Mulder. Did they give you the wrong size?”

He chuckles. “Even if it were the right size, Scully, do you really think I’d wear it?”

She drops it and it folds into her lap. The fire flickers and cracks. He sips the smooth Pinot noir while she’s working out what to think. She remains silent, frowning.

He takes a strand of her hair in his hand and kisses her cheek, her lips. “There was only one present I really wanted this year, Scully. And when you came back here, I got it. I got you.” She tastes of spice and chocolate. He kisses her again. Her hand snakes through his hair and it takes willpower to pull away. “And when you came back, it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t any fanfare. There was nothing to mark the occasion. I want to wrap you up and keep you for myself, Scully.”

He unbuttons her blouse and she lets him. He lifts his jumper over his head. She waits a beat and looks down at her bra. She unhooks it as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them off. Her pants join his and he beckons her to his lap, where she fits perfectly as he slips the sweater over their heads. His arms wrap around her and she sighs back into his chest.

The flames flare and this time the stillness descends inside him. Blindingly brilliant. She is ice and fire, the extremes. She is his once again. He is hers. Always.


	10. Gingerbread

The recipe is smudged with greasy fingerprints, crumpled, a little torn on the edges and it’s well-travelled. Just like him. But it’s tried and true. Something you can fall back on. Pure comfort. Just like them, really. He smiles as he opens the oven door and slides the tray in. Who’d have thought, with all they’d been through, all they’d seen, that 25 years later he’d be in their kitchen comparing their life to a cake?

She’s leaning against the door frame, wearing his Knicks shirt, rumpled fluffy socks and the smile he loves best – the ‘we don’t have to get up tomorrow, so what are we going to do tonight?’ smile. The one that precedes her licking her lips a lot, the one that triggers his eyebrows to waggle more than he can help.

“What’s cooking, Mulder?”

He grins back, letting his eyebrows do their thing. She shucks out a light laugh and folds her arms. The length of the shirt rises and he admires her thighs.

“It’s an old recipe. But one that has stood the test of time.”

“A classic,” she says, talking towards him. “I like things that age well.”

He bends to kiss her and she loops her arms around his neck so that the shirt bunches between them. His arms fall to her waist and they sway a little. He hums White Christmas and she presses her face to his chest.

“There’s something to be said for vintage wine, mature cheddar,” he says, smoothing her hair back from her face. “FBI partners of 25 years who look better now than they did back then. How do you do it, Scully? Are you really immortal? Have I been chasing aliens through the skies all this time only to come to learn that you are the little grey Reticulan of my dreams?”

She giggles into his mouth and he already knows she tastes better than his creation. When she pulls back, she holds up her hands. “I come in peace.”

“Now, I know that’s not true. You come in passionate moans and deep groans and breathy ‘oh, Mulders’.”

Her blush is deep and arousing and his blood fizzes in his veins.

“I think it’s time to take the cake out of the oven, Mulder.” She throws the mitt at him.

It’s cool enough to slice and she does the honours, plating up two portions. The smell is divine, warm cinnamon and Christmassy.

“It’s moist,” she says, running her tongue over her lips.

“And warm and sticky. Soft in the middle, harder on the outside. A little spicy on the tongue. Just how I like it.”

She finishes her mouthful. “Did you just compare me to gingerbread, Mulder?”

“Is that so bad?”

Her lips are dotted with specks of crumbs and he runs a finger over them. She opens her mouth and captures his finger, closing the seal and sucking hard.

“Would you prefer to be something else, Scully? A shortbread maybe, pale but crumbly and sweet?” She takes another finger in her mouth. He leans closer so that his shirt clinks against the plate on the table. “No? Mint slice, then? Cool, fresh?” She digs her teeth into his nails. Increases the pressure. “I’m running out of comparisons…ooh, what about a white chocolate and raspberry muffin? Fluffy…ow!” She bites down and he pulls his fingers out, rubbing them.

“A muffin? Really, Mulder?”

He chuckles. “Maybe that was a stretch too far. There are no comparisons that do you justice, Scully. You are just you.”

She pinches his last mouthful of gingerbread and smiles as she’s eating it. “Mmm, I kind of liked your cake comparisons.”

Nodding, he pushes the plates aside and takes her face in his hands. “Here, you’re a doughnut with sweet raspberry jam oozing from the centre,” he kisses her, twining his tongue with hers. They’re standing now, her legs against the table.

He pushes her back and she’s laying across it, the perfect spread. He nuzzles up her thighs. “Here, you’re a perfect vanilla sponge, whisked to the perfect lightness.” He removes her panties and licks, eliciting a gasp. “And here, you’re a lemon tart, just lightly tangy but sweet enough to want to devour in one sitting.” He nibbles and sucks and feels her fingers in his hair, pulling.

She bucks and moans. “Fuck!” Her heels dig in to his shoulders and he slips in two fingers, the same ones she bit and he twists and turns them, flicking her clit with his tongue. She comes in pulses, the table rattles and the plates chink in rhythm. He chances a look and the shirt is twisted in her grip so all he can see is the Ks at either end.

“Chocolate lava cake, Scully,” he says, pulling her up so that her legs wrap around his butt and her head fits under his chin. “Dark, salty sweetness exploding from the centre. So delicious you just want to eat more and more.”

She sighs into him and he thinks about his recipe book, pages filled with tradition and comfort, with the exotic and the surprising. He pulls Scully closer and hums White Christmas again.


	11. Sleigh Ride

One Christmas Eve, when the house was full and Samantha and he were made to sleep in the back room on camp beds, he told her he’d seen Santa and the reindeers flying across the sky earlier and that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t get any presents. He described the sleigh in great detail, taught her the names of the reindeer and even drew a map of the world showing her where Santa was going next.

“But, Fox, what if he doesn’t get back in time?”

“Santa has his route all planned out. He’ll be over our house at the exact time he’s meant to be. You need to go to sleep. Mom and dad will hear you.”

She climbed into her bed. “How does he see the chimneys in the dark? Rudolph’s nose isn’t that bright.”

“He has magic light, Sam. It makes the whole sky glow but only Santa can see it.”

She closed her eyes, smiling. “Magic light.”

Later that night, when the house was quiet he found his father’s powerful flashlight under the kitchen sink. He huddled behind the sofa and shone the light up at the window, flashing it on and off. It didn’t take long before she stirred. He heard her whimper and the bedding rustle.

“Santa, is that you?”

He flashed the light again and she stayed quiet. He made patterns on the glass, writing her name with the beam, turning figures of eight, generally having a ball. But then he heard her crying.

Dropping the flashlight, he crawled out from his hiding place. Samantha gasped.

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s me. It’s Fox.” She was shivering and shaking when he hugged her. She snivelled into his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you’d like it.”

“There was a man.”

He turned to look at the window. “Did you see Santa?” He could scarcely believe it. He was 11 years old and had started to doubt the story, but maybe…if he really believed…maybe it could still be true. “Was he here?”

She shook her head. “Not Santa. It was a man.”

“But everyone else is asleep, Sam.”

“It wasn’t Santa, it wasn’t, Fox. I promise.” She burst into fresh tears and he tried to keep her quiet but his mother walked in.

“What’s all this noise? Have you been telling your sister your silly ghost stories, Fox? I’ve told you about that before. Santa won’t be calling if you’re awake. Come on now, go to sleep.”

The next year, when the light came, it wasn’t quite Christmas. And it wasn’t from his flashlight.

And it wasn’t a man at the window.


	12. Secret Santa

Every year, without fail, there would be a present under the tree that was beautifully wrapped but had no label attached. Every year, his parents would simply tell him it was from Santa. Every year, he opened it with a curious mix of fear and hope wedged in the pit of his stomach. And every year, he was struck by how thoughtful this Secret Santa was. The gift was always perfect.

Every year, she would spend hours searching for the perfect gift. Every year, without fail, he watched her wrap the present, folding each edge with typical precision, using quality ribbon, curling the ends so they bunched up into a festive pile of shiny ringlets. Every year, she handed it over to him. And every year, he took it from her and left her crying in a pool of misery.

Every year, she waited. Every year, the car would arrive and the man would step out and hand her the present. Every year, she would take the gift and smile at him, but he never smiled back. Every year, she would deliver it to the Van De Kamps. And every year, Monica drove back home filled with curious mix of sadness and hope.


	13. Stockings

They’d hung three stockings every year they marked Christmas at the house. When she left, he carried on the tradition. He left them pinned over the fireplace all year. Watched them waft up on the heat of the flame in winter, or blow around on the fresh breeze on a summer evening.

He wrote down all the things he regretted and put the notes in his stocking. He wrote down all the things he loved and put the notes in Scully’s stocking. He wrote down all the things he dreamed about and put the notes in William’s stocking.

When they started working on the X-Files again, he added another stocking and slipped the note inside.

When she came for Christmas, she stood in front of the fireplace, hair coiling around her shoulders.

He let her read the notes, first from his stocking, then from hers, and then from William’s. She sobbed until she was dry.

“What about the last one? What’s inside?” Her face was crumpled, damp from her tears. He unpinned the stocking. 

She pushed her hand down into the toe. She took out the note. Sniffed.

“It’s my wishlist,” he said.

She smiled then, hanging her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Thank you, Scully. I always wanted to believe…”


	14. Chocolate

“Mulder, did you know that the smell of chocolate increases the brain’s theta waves. Studies have suggested this rhythm triggers relaxation, though others suggested it was linked with arousal.”

She lets the dark square melt on her tongue.

He watches intently. “And the man who invented the chocolate chip cookie sold his recipe to Nestle in return for a lifetime supply of chocolate.” He cracks another square from the bar and hands it to her.

“Shrewd businessman. I like him,” she says, taking the square. “Studies have also shown that eating dark chocolate every day reduces your risk of heart disease by one third.”

He smiles as her breasts peek through the bubbles. “Good to know you’re looking after your health, Scully. How about the fact that Milton Hershey cancelled his reservations for the Titanic to attend to business matters.”

“Thank goodness for fate,” she says, sticking a foot out of the water. “But sticking with medical facts, there is an antibacterial property in chocolate that can help prevent tooth decay.”

The skin on her feet is warm and soft as he massages it. “But I bet you didn’t know you can buy a pill to make your farts smell like chocolate.”

Her foot slips from his grip as she laughs. “Invented by a man who lacked some social skills, by the sounds of it.” She sits up and grabs a fistful of his shirt, eyes narrowing as if to ask why he’s still wearing it. “But the real reason that chocolate is so fucking awesome, is that it is the only edible substance that melts at 93 degrees – just below human body temperature and the reason why it’s so sensuous.”

She leans forward to kiss him and he tastes of beer and hope. She lets him taste her chocolate and lust. She pulls on his shirt and he plunges into the tub. She’s still cackling when he rights himself.

“Did you know that being horizontal in a bath can improve your mood, Mulder?”

He flicks bubbles at her. “I think you’re supposed to take your clothes off first. But I think I’m pretty happy.”


	15. Marshmallows

The quiver ran through her when the teller gave her the hot chocolate. The young man did a double take too.

“Did you want…”

“Marshmallows?” she said. “Yes, please.”

“And you eat them when they’re just melting.” He said it as a statement rather than a question. She dipped her head.

Mulder arrived and took his coffee from the counter. “Scully, did you pay for the fuel?”

She nodded.

“And you asked for…”

“Double shot, extra cream,” the young man said, smiling so that his whole face lit up. His bangs flopped over his face and she turned from him to Mulder to the young man again. “That’s exactly how I have mine. Have a nice day.”

It was a half mile down the road before Mulder picked up his cup. “Good coffee,” he said, looking over to her. “Good chocolate?”

She let the sweetness of the marshmallow linger on her tongue. “Perfect.”

“Nice kid,” he said.

Perfect, she thought. And spent the rest of the journey wondering why.


	16. Angel

She popped the tinsel garland on her head and held her arms out wide.

“Yes, Scully. You are an….”

She put a finger to his lips and knelt before him, unbuckling his belt. “Don’t…I haven’t taken you to heaven, yet.”


	17. Christmas Carols

Skinner sat in front of them belting out Silent Night like he was at an ACDC concert. The fairy lights from the huge decorated tree next to the stage ran over his bald head lighting him up like a scene from Stranger Things. William sat next to Skinner, looking back over his shoulder at them, his small smile somewhere on the edge of bewilderment and hilarity.

“He looks like you, Scully.” Mulder clutched her hand in his lap and she squeezed back.

“But he acts like you,” she said, holding back her laugh as their son clenched his jaw and set his face in his hands, elbows on knees. “He can’t wait to get out of here. His mind is a million miles away. He’s probably reciting baseball stats as we speak.”

“I think he’s more of a basketball man, Scully. And that impatient streak is all you.”

She elbowed him. “Hey, let’s not forget I’ve put up with you for 25 years.”

He dropped a kiss on her head. “And Skinner. You’ve put up with him too.”

She smiled. “If I knew he sang like that I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

“I went to karaoke with him once. He sang I Will Survive and my ears bled.”

She snickered. “Poor William. He’ll never want to spend Christmas with us again.” The carol ended and the audience murmured, waiting for the next song. “Maybe it’s time to rescue him and leave.”

It wasn’t difficult to prise William away with a promise of food. Unfortunately, Skinner tagged along. He followed them to their house and invited himself in. He got drinks for all of them and busied himself in the kitchen, ushering them out.

“Go and talk,” he said. “I’m fine here. Good King Wenceslas looked out….”

“Is he all right?” William asked, following them to the living room.

Mulder chuckled. “We’ve had our doubts.”

For Scully, the sight of William in the living room of their house was mesmerising. She watched him as he chatted with Mulder, their arms stretched along the back of the sofa, a beer clutched in the other hand, both listening intently as the other talked. Her nose tingled with emotion.

“It’s amazing how alike they are, the mannerisms, isn’t it?” She hadn’t heard Skinner behind her.

“Genetically coded to be an alien-hunting believer,” she said, dabbing her eyes and taking the bowl of steaming pasta.

“Or a passionate and empathetic brilliant mind,” he said. “William, here, with you both. It’s…”

“Like all our Christmases come at once?” She nodded, then watched as Mulder and William ate, elbows on knees, forks in hand, taking a mouthful at the same time.

The red wine flowed for hours after and eventually William headed for bed. With Skinner snoring in the armchair, Mulder tapped the big boss on the shoulder, offering him their bed for the night. By the time Scully had tidied everything away, Mulder had made up the sofabed and she slipped in next to him, grateful for his arms around her.

“Happy Christmas, Scully.”

“Happy Christmas, Mulder. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.”


	18. Snow Boots

There was no way she was going outside. No way. The snow on the window sill was at least five inches thick. Their car was just a white mound on the driveway. The air was the palest of grey, silver almost and she just wanted to stay wrapped in her fleecy blanket watching the magic of it.

But Mulder. Mulder was like a little boy. When was he not? He was pacing around, banging and crashing through the cabin, looking for entertainment. And then he presented her with a pair of boots and a bright blue snow jacket that looked suspiciously familiar.

“These are too big for me, Mulder. And it’s too cold outside. Can’t we just stay by the fire?”

“And do what, Scully?”

Sometimes, for an intelligent man, Mulder could be dense. She sighed and pulled the blanket tighter. The flames flickered and snapped in the fire place. He sunk into the sofa next to her and flopped his head on her shoulder.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to build a snowman, Scully.”

“I can’t believe you do, Mulder. It’s minus 10 degrees outside, there’s a blizzard forecast, we’ve got fine wine, aged cheese, a fire and a comfortable sofa. Why would you want to go outside?”

He pouted. “I wanted to have some fun.”

She popped her hand out and stroked his cheek. “There are many different ways to have fun. And the sort of fun I’m thinking of, tends to leave you numb but not from the cold.”

He has the grace to hesitate for a moment. “But I wanted to see you in snow boots, Scully.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “Well, there’s no reason why that little fantasy can’t be indulged, Mulder.”

His smile widened and he took her into his arms. “What about the jacket?”

She pulled away from his embrace. “I’m all about indulging your fantasies, Mulder, but that might be a bit of a stretch. It’ll probably fit both of us.”

He chuckled into her hair. “It never did rain sleeping bags, but blue snow jackets are a fair swap.”


	19. Holly

He’s scrabbling around at the back of the closet, trying to find space. Desperate to find space. He has never quite understood the physics of a practically housebound man accumulating more belongings than he ever had when he was footloose and fancy-free. If he ever was. Sometimes, the memories of that life before Scully are so clouded that he imagines he’s known her forever, their lives melded from the very beginning.

The years they spent on the run left them with the capacity to live with nothing. They travelled with one small backpack, stuffed with what they believed were essentials. Ironic then, to discover, that the only essential for either of them, was each other. 

And then the quiet years - spent hunched at his desk waiting for her to bring him news of the outside. News that did nothing to shift the blackness in his heart and mind. And news that, in the end, he found he didn’t even want to hear. Gradually, Scully’s belongings shifted to her apartment. And somehow that space, her space, had been filled.

There are garbage bags lined up behind him, filled with the detritus of a mind overworking and a heart underperforming. There are notes, post-its, ledgers, photos, posters, assorted magazines and journals, a bag of fake alien bones, a mummified alien skull that now smells of rotting foam, an odd tennis shoe and various boxes filled with more rubbish.

But tucked away at the back, hidden under a pile of clothes that had fallen from hangers, is the doll. He recoils slightly when he sees it. It is…ugly. But behind that weird embroidered face and knitted body is a patchwork history, of lives melded together.

That Christmas Eve, his mother handed him the package and while he unwrapped it she rubbed her swollen belly. The serious expression on her face scared him.

“This is an early present for you,” she said. Behind her the Christmas tree lights glowed blue and green and red and gold. “It’s a way for you to learn about responsibility, Fox.”

Inside the plain paper wrap was a rag doll. He stared at its face, stitched and uneven.

“My mother made this for me when my sister came. When your baby brother or sister is born, I’ll be very busy, so you’ll have to learn patience and to keep quiet when the baby is sleeping. This is your doll to look after. To keep safe. Do you understand?”

His mother knelt in front of him and ruffled his hair. He leant in for a hug but her stomach was so round he could barely fit his arms around her.

“What are you going to call her?”

He stared at it. This strange woollen thing. Would he have a sister then? He thought maybe he would prefer that to a brother. He looked at the tree, gifts piled around its base. There were candles flickering on the fire place, and above it, a simple wreath.

“Holly,” he said.

His mother smiled and nodded. “I love you, Fox. You’re my firstborn, my son. That’s something nobody can take away. When you love somebody so much, they are always near. Even if you can’t always be with them, or see them, they are just…here.” She touched his chest and kissed his forehead.

Scully pours two glasses of wine and hands him one. She clinks his and sips, staring at the fireplace.

“It’s strange to be back,” she says. “But good strange. It always felt wrong being apart from you. But you know why I had to leave.” She casts her eyes down and he sees the pink flush of guilt creep over her. He wishes he could wash it away for her. She did what she had to do to keep from going under with him.

He’s barely able to keep his eyes from her. He wants to learn her all over again, every sound from her lips, every highlight in her hair, every expression on that beautiful face. She hasn’t changed but she’s different.

She turns to sit but gasps. “Where did you find this? She disappeared years ago.” He watches as she takes the doll and holds it up. “She’s still in pretty good shape.”

The wine is warm on his tongue and he feels something unfurl inside him as it slides down his throat. He takes Scully’s hand, the one she’s holding the doll and presses it between them. “She was lost, gone. I wasn’t even looking for her. But it’s like she knew you were coming. She was just…here.”


	20. Candy Canes

She opened the door as quietly as she could. The glow from the Christmas tree was the only light. Inside was silent like snow. She shut the door and stood her bag on the floor, cricking her neck each way. The paperwork was finally done. She could enjoy the festive break free from the burden of reports. Earlier, Skinner had driven Mulder home so she could work without his persistent and whining interruptions. She’d finally snapped when he’d thrown a freshly sharpened pencil at the corkboard but his aim was so off that she received a stinging jab to the upper arm.

“Go home, decorate the tree and make that spicy chicken pasta dish. If you’re lucky, I’ll give you an early Christmas present, Mulder.”

She slipped off her shoes and stepped towards the kitchen. The crunch underfoot was light but noticeable. She took another step and the sharp splinter dug into her sole. She muffled a curse under her breath. Every step she moved, she trod on something jagged but sticky. By the time she reached the kitchen bench to find out what she’d walked in, she heard the distinct sharp pitch of Mulder snoring. She flicked on the small overhead lights, picked up a foot and looked over her shoulder to see glistening red and white shreds over her feet.

“I decorated the tree, Scully,” Mulder said, voice slurring with fatigue. “But I couldn’t find the candy canes.”

She looked over at Mulder, stretched out on the couch, Daggoo curled up on his lap, with the same glistening red and white shreds over his face.

Mulder sat up. “Do I still get my early Christmas present, Scully?”


	21. Holiday Specials

The television blared out yet he was nursing the laptop on his knees, scrolling through a myriad of bizarre stories. She watched for a moment as fascinated as he was. She’d often made light of his passion for the arcane and the paranormal, but in truth she loved him more for it. That childlike wonderment, that ability to hold onto his beliefs in the face of mocking attitudes, the fact that he had survived the very worst the supernatural world had to offer yet still sought it out. She ruffled his hair and bent to kiss the side of his face, letting her arms fall over his chest. He grabbed her wrist and directed her hand inside his shirt. She stroked the fine hair there and his chest vibrated with a sigh that turned to a soft chuckle.

“What’s on, Scully?”

She smothered kisses over his bristled cheek. “Nothing, Mulder.”

“No holiday specials?”

She let her hair tumble over his shoulder and she giggled. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

He flipped the laptop shut and looked up at her. His eyes opened wider and he shifted around so that he faced her fully.

“Scully?”

“You’ve been sitting in front of the television for hours, Mulder.”

“When I could have been doing something much more satisfying. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She walked around and draped herself over his lap. Her bare skin tingling with the contact. “You asked what’s on. I told you.”

He brushed his thumb over her nipple and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “This is the best kind of holiday special, Scully.”


	22. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as Plain and Simple

Later

Mulder leant over her, the softness of her skin a warm thrill. Her back was arched over the ball and in the faint glow of the fairy lights her spine was studded like diamonds. He held his breath and felt himself get hard as he pushed against her. She moaned and rocked forward on the ball. He pinned his feet to the floor, toes digging into the wool carpet for traction.

“Mulder,” she sighed. “Have I wished you a happy Christmas yet?”

He pushed her hair aside and scattered kisses over the back of her neck. “I’d say this is a pretty good gift, Scully.”

She pushed back against him and he groaned. “You wanted me plain and simple, Mulder.”

“I can’t believe I said that. You are never plain, and you’re certainly not simple.”

He ran his tongue along her jaw and slipped his hand under a breast, tweaking her nipple. “Oh god, Mulder. That feels so good.” She pushed them back and forth again.

“Rock on,” he said.

Her fluttery giggle seemed fitting in the festive setting.

“Mulder?”

Scully sucked in a breath.

“Mr Mulder? Are you still up?”

Earlier

Family Christmas Scully-style should have been the name of the latest Hollywood horror movie franchise. Mulder watched as people manoeuvred around the kitchen in Maggie Scully’s house wielding weapons that sliced, diced, slashed and cut. Vegetables, small birds, big birds, salad leaves, nothing was spared. Everything was boiled, whipped, smashed or steamed. It was hot and dirty work yet he just couldn’t find a rhythm. When he was handed a bowl, he wasn’t sure if he should sniff it, taste it, put it in the oven, the fridge or on the table. At one point he was holding a dish of what looked suspiciously like the bile that he’d touched in Eugene Tooms’ lair, a bowl filled with meringue that he wanted to smash into Bill Scully jr’s smug face and a pair of champagne flutes.

“Mulder,” Scully said, “take those into the dining room. You should be able to find a spot on the table. And pour mom a drink. She’s getting a little stressed.”

He nodded and headed out of the manic room to find sanctuary in the larger space where the table was primped and preened for the feast. He was pleased just to get the glasses down without breaking them when he heard Scully giggle. Her face was flushed from a pre-lunch drink.

“Are you okay, Mulder?”

It was their catch-cry. Their litmus test, their barometer. Too many times it had been asked for reasons all too scary. But today, it was playful and he grinned back at her. “I’m fine, Dr Scully. But I must confess to feeling a little overwhelmed. All this tradition is making me want to break out and find some Reticulans to share a day of clomping around in alien-goo, exchanging coded messages and eating space junk food.”

He looked up and a moment of bright luck smiled down on them. Mistletoe hung from the lampshade, entwined with holly. Scully slipped an arm around his waist. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, Santa will give you what you want.”

He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “If I’d known we were sharing Christmas wishes, I would have done better, Scully.”

“And what would you have wished for?”

Her hair brushed the side of his face and he turned her around the hold her in his arms. “You, unwrapped and ready, no turkey, no stuffing, no plum pudding. Just you, plain and simple.”

She tiptoed and kissed him. “Play nice, and your wish might just come true.”

The door opened with such force that the glasses on the table chinked together. “Dana,” Bill jr boomed. “Mum is waiting for you.”

Mulder let her go. Reluctantly.

“To do what?”

Bill moved towards them, his face red with alcohol. Or maybe anger. Mulder could never tell. “To help.”

“There’s a small army of helpers in there, brother dearest. I’m sure I’d just getting in the way.”

Mulder felt Bill’s eyes rake over him and he didn’t know whether to salute him or to punch him. “Come on Scully, let’s go and see where we can lend a hand.”

“I liked your hands where they were,” Scully said, and smacked him lightly on the backside.

Bill glowered. Mulder smiled.

The tree was almost hidden behind the mountain of gifts that were piled up around it. The fairy lights twinkled like Scully’s smile as she handed out presents to nephews and nieces and brothers and cousins and family friends.

She grinned at Mulder and pushed a small, beautifully wrapped gift towards him. “This says, ‘this gift must only be opened by someone who bears the name of a cunning and wily canine’.”

He shook his head. “Nobody here answer to the name of Wolf, or Coyote, or Hyena or Dingo?”

Bill barked out a laugh. “They’re all mangy dogs, Dana.”

“Bill,” Maggie warned. “Foxes are renowned for their speed, their responsiveness, they teach us to be smart and sharp.”

“Then this must be for you, Mulder,” Scully said, with a throaty purr.

He took the gift and smiled at her. “Must be a coincidence, Scully. My gift for you is just the same.” He handed her the small package he’d been hiding behind his back.

Pressing a kiss to his lips she took his gift and glared at her brother. “Great minds think alike, Mulder.”

“You open yours first, Scully.”

“Why can’t you two just call each other by your first names, like everybody else?” Bill took a long swig from his beer and Tara shot him a look.

Maggie shook her head. “There are many forms of intimacy, Bill. You should have heard some of the names your father had for me.”

The deep flush on Bill’s face and neck added to the warmth in the room. Mulder didn’t know where to look, but Scully was grinning so hard that he nodded at the gift in her hand and tried to ignore her brother huffing and puffing in his arm chair. “Open it, please.”

She untied the knot in the red silky ribbon, unstuck the tape and unfolded the corners. The gift slipped out from its wrapping and she held up the first edition of Moby Dick. Her mother gasped and Tara clapped. Bill grunted.

“This is perfect, Mulder. Thank you.” Her simple words stirred something in him and he felt flushed with pride. “Your turn,” she said softly, pointing to her gift in his hands. “I don’t think it can live up to this.”

He unwrapped the gift and held it up to inspect it. His heart pounded. “This is amazing, Scully. Where did you find it?”

“It’s amazing what gems the internet can offer up, if you spend enough time trawling through the detritus.”

“What is it, uncle Fox?” Matthew asked.

Mulder turned the book around to show the boy. “This is the answer to everything, Matthew.”

The child frowned and read the title. “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Is it about aliens?”

Mulder grinned. “Isn’t everything?” He leant forward to kiss Scully on the cheek. “Thank you. Signed first edition, Scully. It means a lot.” His voice dropped lower. “You mean a lot.”

She brushed her lips across his jaw and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Mulder. I know how hard this is for you.”

“I wouldn’t deprive you of your family Christmas, Scully. I know how important it is to you and your mother.”

Maggie smiled at them both, raised a glass and winked. “I think she likes you, Fox.”

It was dark outside. Quiet inside. Matthew had long since quit complaining that it was too early for bed. Tara had bid them all goodnight and taken her pregnant self to bed. Bill snored for an hour before Maggie tugged at his arm and sent him packing. She wished Scully and Mulder a goodnight and closed the door.

“You’ve been wonderful today, Mulder.” She leant her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You deserve nothing less, Scully.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her legs onto his lap. “Foot massage?”

She nodded. “Have you always been this good a boyfriend?”

“Is that what I am?”

“You’re the best one I’ve ever had,” she said, sighing as he rubbed her feet. “Even if you are a little spooky.”

He chuckled. “I haven’t been spooky for a while, Scully. I am very sensible these days.”

“I did not fall in love with you to be sensible, Mulder.”

“Are you suggesting I change my ways just to make you fall in love with me even more?”

“I wouldn’t dare suggest that, but it’s Christmas night and we’re alone and there are all sorts of ways to be unsensible, Mulder.”

“Is that a word, Dr Scully?” His fingers traced her ankles and slipped under the leg of her pants.

“It is if I say it is. That’s nice, Mulder.”

“I can be unnice, if you want.” His other hand ran up her thigh and found her fly, unbuttoning it with deftness. She gasped as his fingers pushed into her, tender but urgent. She shifted so he could find the spot and when he did, she groaned into his shoulder.

“I like it when you’re this kind of unnice, Mulder. It’s another reason why I love you.”

“If you say that to me every time I do something different, you might just blow my mind.”

“Well, Mulder, excuse me for falling in love with you and your manual dexterity.”

“What about some oral dexterity, Scully?” He took his hand away and she mewled out a soft cry of protest. But when he pulled her pants down and slipped her underwear over her hips, she let out a cry of anticipation. He nuzzled her, pushing his nose against her pubic bone, letting the fine hairs whisper against his nostrils and inhaling her Scully scent. It never failed to get him hard. Just the memory of her sometimes did the trick, which made for awkward moments in mundane situations. She scooted back against the chair and let her legs fall open and he looked at her first. Her fingers in his hair, her hitched breathing, her wet warmth in front of him, her lazy, expectant smile. Even without the pine scent and buzz of alcohol in his veins, it really felt like Christmas.

“Mulder,” she whispered. “What are you waiting for?”

He chuffed and looked up at her. “I can’t say Christmas, can I?” Her laugh fluttered away as he licked her in one, slow swipe then headed back up again. He rolled his tongue to a point and flicked it against her clit in a rhythm that she dictated with her slow hip rolls. He slipped his index finger in and curled it up and she gasped. His middle finger swirled and turned eliciting a sharp pant each time. Her hips moved harder, urgent. He flattened his tongue against her, holding it there until her legs quivered against his cheeks. Her muscles tightened and he licked her clit again and again until he felt her breathing stop. His fingers pushed in and out and she clenched her buttocks, lifting them high off the chair, exerting a choking pressure on his neck. His erection strained against his jeans and he held his own breath to increase the pleasure. She cried out as her orgasm hit hard and as she slowly lowered herself back down he fed off her pulses until the lower half of his face was slick.

“Fuck, Mulder. That was insane.”

She sat forward and took his face and kissed him, over his mouth, his chin, his jawline, everywhere she had been. It was the most erotic thing and he wanted to plunge into her but there was still the problem of clothes and the fact that they’d probably already overstepped the mark in Maggie Scully’s living room.

“Do you think we should move this party somewhere a little more private?”

“If this is how you party, Mulder, I think I’m going to like our hedonistic lifestyle for many years to come.”

He pulled her up and she stood before him in her rumpled jumper, naked from the waist down. “Did you just propose to me Scully?”

She twisted round to find her underwear and he enjoyed the view of her perfect ass for a beat. “If I did, it was pretty lame. I can do better.”

“I might hold you to that.” He held out her pants.

She glanced down at the bulge in his jeans and smiled. “I might hold you to that first.”

“Your room or mine?”

She took his and hand he followed her to the back room that Maggie had made up for him. She’d been using it as a storage room and it was full of old gym equipment and suitcases.

Scully turned and unzipped his fly, yanking his jeans down as he pulled his tee-shirt off. She shucked off her blouse and he unclipped her bra. He grazed her erect nipples with his thumbs before bending to get a taste. He stepped out of his jeans and she fumbled with this boxers, freeing him for a cold second before grasping him in her eager hand. She stroked and teased, rubbing a thumb over the tip and under. She sunk to her knees and he found her hair, pulling silky stands through his fingers as she ran her tongue up and down his shaft before swallowing him. Her rhythm was everything and he couldn’t he had to talk to her, to tell her she was doing everything right.

“That’s so good, Scully. Yes, right there. Ohmygod, ohmygod, yes.”

She brought him to the edge of pleasure so many times but he wanted to come inside her and reluctantly he pulled her up.

“Bed?”

He looked around. “Ball?”

She followed his gaze and saw the exercise ball against the far wall. She slipped past him and knelt in front of it, draping herself over it.

Mulder leant over her, the softness of her skin a warm thrill. Her back was arched over the ball and in the faint glow of the fairy lights her spine was studded like diamonds. He held his breath and felt himself get hard as he pushed against her. She moaned and rocked forward on the ball. He pinned his feet to the floor, toes digging into the wool carpet for traction.

“Mulder,” she sighed. “Have I wished you a happy Christmas yet?”

He pushed her hair aside and scattered kisses over the back of her neck. “I’d say this is a pretty good gift, Scully.”

She pushed back against him and he groaned. “You wanted me plain and simple, Mulder.”

“I can’t believe I said that. You are never plain, and you’re certainly not simple.”

He ran his tongue along her jaw and slipped his hand under a breast, tweaking her nipple. “Oh god, Mulder. That feels so good.” She pushed them back and forth again.

“Rock on,” he said.

Her fluttery giggle seemed fitting in the festive setting.

“Mulder?”

Scully sucked in a breath.

“Mr Mulder? Are you still up?”

If it hadn’t have been Bill jr asking, Mulder would have laughed loud at the irony. But Bill blundered in to the room and switched on the light.

“Jesus, fuck.” He switched the light back off.

Mulder pushed himself back and Scully scrambled for the bed, diving under the sheet. “Bill, ever heard of knocking?” It was the same tone she used when Mulder had overstepped the mark of outlandish theories. There was ice forming on her tongue.

“I didn’t imagine you would be in here. I came to see Mulder.”

“I’d say you saw more of me that you bargained for, Bill. Let me just…get some clothes on and I’ll be right out.”

His hands were trembling as he pulled on his jeans. Scully was now giggling softly into the pillow. “Glad you can see the humour in the scenario, Scully. I’ve got to face your brother after he’s had a full view of my backside.”

“Lucky him,” she said, before bursting into laughter again. “Get him drunk out there, Mulder and he won’t remember any of it.”

By the time he snuck back into the room, Scully was snoring softly. He slipped into the narrow bed beside her and she sighed as his cold body found her warmth.

“Did you have fun with my brother?” Her voice was gravelly and delicious. He nuzzled her neck.

“Not as much fun as I was having with you, but we sorted out a few things. I think he quite likes me now. So that was a nice surprise.”

“Mmm, nice,” she said.

“I like unnice better,” he said, cupping her breast.

“Me too, but I’m sleepy.” She turned to kiss him. “Happy Christmas, Mulder.”

“Happy Christmas, Scully.”

The room is blanketed in the gentle silence of a sleeping house and he exhales long and slow into her neck. She shifts lightly against him. He’s always loved a drowsy Scully – a softer and looser version of herself.

“Scully?”

“Mmm?”

“You said earlier that your proposal could be better. What did you mean?”

She let out a small laugh and turned over. Her hair was mussed and there were lines over her face from the creases in the pillow fabric. She was sleep-warm in his arms. She kissed his mouth.

“Fox William Mulder. Will you marry me?”

He held his breath a moment, processing her words. Plain and simple. Perfect.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Scully.”


	23. Peppermint

She sipped peppermint and let the steam curl around her face. The aroma filled her with a strong sense of calm.

Skinner smiled down at her. “Better?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. I feel fine.”

“We’ll find him, Agent Scully. I give you my word.”

She nodded. “I know.”

When they found him, they buried him. She drank peppermint tea with her mother and let the world turn on and on.

When he came home, she brewed peppermint tea and watched him relearn his place in the world. And her heart.

When she gave up their son, the smell of peppermint tea made her vomit. Its freshness clawing at her lungs, mocking her with its vivacity.

When she left Mulder she brewed a cup but smashed it against the wall, pale green liquid dripping down to the floor.

When he came back they talked all night, eventually falling asleep on the couch. The aroma of peppermint tea woke her and the sight of Mulder holding the cup out to her filled her heart.


	24. Cookies

The recipe is smudged with grease stains, curled at the edges. It has sat on kitchen benches in several countries, many states and has been read by every eye colour.

Every time she makes it, the dough is slightly different. But that’s the point of something that endures.

She rolls it and cuts it. The oven behind her sends out warm blasts. Watching the cookies swell and crisp is a meditation of sorts. A chance to remind herself of life’s processes, its patterns, its constant changes.

Mulder takes her by surprise, clasping his hands around her waist and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Smells good,” he says but she’s unsure if he talking about the cookies or her perfume.

She doesn’t care. He’s back.


	25. Presents

It’s the best gift. But she can’t unwrap it. Can’t shake it, smell it, weigh it, tip it upside down.

The wrapping paper is still strewn on the floor. Their actual presents, the ones they said they wouldn’t buy, are on his coffee table. The bizarre night’s events have swirled around her mind all night. Until just now. His hard, defined body is pushed against hers, his ratty couch under them, more comfortable than she imagined, his chin on her forehead, arms blanketed around her.

“I need to go, Mulder. I’m already going to be late.”

He wriggles and moans and reluctantly unclasps his fingers. “Happy Christmas, Scully.”

She sits and sees her clothes scattered around. “You said that last night, Mulder.”

He grins. “What is one supposed to say on Christmas morning to his Catholic…”

She waits. He rolls over, running a hand down her bare back. “Girlfriend?”

The word is selected and he breathes out. She feels the blush deepen. “Is that what I am?”

Sitting now, he shakes his head. “It would take me to New Year to explain what you mean to me, Scully. But you’re already late.

As she waits at the door, he leans down to kiss her. "I love you, Dana.”

There is truth in his eyes. And the same hot sensation beats in her heart. It’s the best gift.


End file.
